Once he was certain it was dead, Soubi turned toward the injured woman with a smile, eyes soft again and amused, the scarring around his throat bleeding---he wiped it away with a swipe of one hand, offering his free one to Charlie for support if she needed it.
"Don't mention it," he said, giving a delicate shrug. "I don't like having my groceries stomped on." That seemed to be something of an understatement---he only made so much money, after all. He couldn't afford to buy as much as other people did. "What did you do to make that thing so angry, anyway?" His accent, Japanese, was honestly not that bad, his English well-spoken and clear. He'd probably had an excellent teacher.
Not letting her answer, he shook his head, waving a hand dismissively. "No, nevermind, it's none of my business. --You should probably get your wounds cleaned up, though. Would you like for me to help?"